The Gods Awaken

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Safar's homecoming was a glorious celebration that lasted a full week. There was much singing, feasting and sacrifice to the Goddess Felakia. Sparkling fireworks filled the nights, dazzling kites of many colors the days. The whole mountaintop was thick with the heady scent of roasting kabobs and spiced fruits and perfumed rice. Wine flowed in rivers and everyone was drunk from dawn to dawn.

His parents and sisters fussed over Safar, weeping and laughing in relief that he was with them once again. Men thumped his back and called him brother and hero. Women offered themselves, swearing they would do anything he desired-with no betrothals asked in return. Coralean gave him a treasure chest filled with exotic gems and rare coins struck by kings in distant lands.

His circus friends staged a fabulous performance in his honor. Biner dressed in his best ringmaster's uniform to direct from the ground as Arlain and Kairo performed many wondrous feats on wires strung from the high-floating airship to the ground. Arlain in her skimpiest costume, breathing long tongues of fire. Kairo juggling his detachable head along with a flaming sword. While Elgy and Rabix played stirring music specially composed for the show.

During all these events Khysmet was always nearby, flowers woven into his mane and tail by pretty Kyranian maids. Palimak sat at Safar's feet, feeling light as a feather, now that he no longer had to wear the heavy mantle of leadership.

Leiria was perhaps the happiest of them all, standing permanent guard at his side. Her burnished armor shining almost as strongly as the internal glow of her overflowing heart. She was joined by the fiercely loyal Renor and Sinch who made certain Safar was safe from all who approached.

With no discussion, Jooli made herself part of this group. She appeared one morning and took up position beside Leiria. It seemed so natural that no one questioned her right.

Safar made only one speech during this time. On the first day he called all the villagers together to purify the mountaintop of the last vestiges of Clayrea€™ sorcery. Afterward, he told them how overjoyed he was to be home again. Although he didn't say where he had been, it was understood by all that Lord Timura had suffered much for them. He congratulated his friends and family for successfully negotiating the Great Sea and making a new home in Syrapis, despite many difficulties and personal sacrifice.

Finally, he begged them to pardon Masura and his supporters for their actions. Left unsaid was that until Safar's miraculous appearance the majority of the villagers had sided with Masura. Everyone seemed quite anxious to forget that ugly little truth.

Safar said he understood and even agreed with the concerns of the Council of Elders. However, these were perilous times that called for extraordinary measures when it came to leadership.

Here he drew Palimak close to him, praising him before the entire assemblage for all that he had done to protect the people of Kyrania. And for so faithfully carrying out all Safar had commanded.

This simple and loving declaration banished any doubts that might have remained among the villagers about Palimak's role since their flight from Esmir. Coupled with the pardon of Masura and his supporters, everyone was so relieved that they wiped their minds of all grievances, real or imagined.

Yet all that gladness was an illusion. Safar knew he would soon have to make his people face a terrible truth: all they had suffered and all they had endured was nothing compared to with the dark days to come.

But he allowed them this brief time. Let them dance, dance, dance, as he had in the endless nightmare of Hadin.

Meanwhile, he would marshal his strength and resources and play the deadly waiting game.

Deep in the wine-dark night, Safar paced the room. Filling one whole side was the great empty coffin of Lord Asper. On the wall above the coffin was the mural that had once graced Queen Clayre's chambers.

Here was the glittering castle and the mysterious King of the Spirit Riders leading his army into battle.

There were his warrior daughters, each more beautiful than the other. In front of them was the most beautiful of all-the ebony-skinned princess on the midnight-black mare who had appeared several times over the years to warn Safar, or lead him to safety.

It was all a maddening puzzle. A labyrinth of hidden meanings. Safar had little memory of what had happened since his escape from the past and future dreamworld of Hadinland. There were only impressions, swirling like stars in a drunken sky. There was the wild ride on Khysmet. Quick snatches of the battle with the monster queen in her underground lair. A hazy period of illness, when he sensed he had been knocking on Death's door. Then Palimak had appeared astride Khysmet and they were hammering together at a stony surface.

The surface finally gave way and he suddenly found himself bursting out of the wall of this very room.

And then he was charging out of the fortress on Khysmet to meet and defeat the plague of rodents attacking his people.

Safar stared at the mural. He remembered being a momentary part of the ancient painting-sitting astride Khysmet with Palimak, whispering for him to remain quite still while the spell he'd cast continued its course.

He was peering out into the room of the witch queen, Clayre. Nearby was her son, King Rhodes-ruler of Hunan. They were bent over a table, concentrating on something. What it was, he couldn't see. But he could feel the intense flow of magic arcing back and forth between them.

Then it came to him that Rhodes wasn't a true part of that magic. He was only a vessel, with a sorcerous something within.

Safar dug deeper, investigating this oddity. He caught the whiff of a familiar scent. It carried him all the way back to his student days in old Walaria. By the gods, it was Kalasariz!

He'd defeated the canny spymaster several times before, but he kept arising like a vengeful ghost to bedevil him. Somehow he'd taken up residence within the king.

There was still more. What was it? Who was it? Then he sensed the lesser presences of Prince Luka and Lord Fari-Iraj's old demon companions of the Spell of Four. Kalasariz had somehow turned the tables on them. Now they were his much-abused slaves.

However, that left a major question unanswered. There was Kalasariz, Luka and Fari. That made only three.

What had happened to the all-important fourth-Iraj Protarus?

Safar had strained mightily, but couldn't find a single trace of the man who had once been his dearest friend but was now his bitterest enemy. Had Kalasariz managed to kill Iraj as well? That didn't seem possible. Wily as Kalasariz was, Iraj was not one to go so easily.

As Safar had pondered this, Palimak had cast the remaining portion of his spell and they'd been hurled across a spectral world into the Kyranian fortress.

Safar sighed heavily, still caught on the horns of the dilemma of Iraj. He turned away from the mural, which Palimak's spell had transported with them. There were too many questions, each requiring him to follow completely different roads, so it was unlikely a single answer could be found that would satisfy everything.

A line from the Book of Asper crawled into memory : "All that is Without is Within … And all that isWithin, is Without … " Safar smiled. Once again he was confronted with another murky verse from Asper that seemed to have meaning. But the meaning defied penetration. No help there.

He strode over to a mirror, and for the first time in what seemed an eternity, viewed his own face. There were the familiar features. The blue eyes, the long chin, the strong nose. He was richly tanned from his time under the hot Hadin sun. No answers there, either, my friend.

Safar touched his chin. There was a bit of a morning stubble. Safar got out his razor, stropping it keen for a shave. Idly, he noticed the stubble was golden instead of its usual dark shadow.

When he'd bathed last night he'd noticed the same was true of the hair on his chest and privates. There were also several wide golden streaks running through the dark hair on his head. Obviously, so much time being naked under that burning sky had bleached him out-possibly forever.

The rest of his body seemed unaffected, except he was more muscular than before. Some good had come from his time in Hadin. He'd always been strongly built, but now his chest and limbs were heavier, more defined. And now that he was well he felt like he was filled with a never-ending supply of energy.

This was a definite bonus. For he'd need all the strength he could summon for the hard days ahead.

Safar soaped his face and started shaving. He paused a moment, staring into his own eyes as if they belonged to another, wiser man. And he asked that other man, Where is Iraj? But no answer came from this silly exercise.

He chuckled at his foolishness and continued his ablutions.

In his hiding place, Iraj suppressed outright laughter.

He was so close to his enemy that if he had a knife he could catch him unaware and kill him. Of course, he'd need hands to hold that knife-which was something he lacked at the moment. In fact, he had no body at all. And wasn't it odd that he didn't miss it?

Then again, maybe it wasn't so strange. In Iraj's previous existence as a shapechanger he'd known constant pain. Especially as he moved through the agony of assuming one form or another. Bones cracking. Skin stretching and transforming. Internal organs boiling in a sorcerous cauldron. Brain and nerves on fire as they were bombarded by over-intensified sensations.

No, this was much better. The spirit form was a perfect container for the hate he felt for his enemy. What was more, as a spirit he could be patient in the extreme. And patience was a quality that Iraj had never possessed before.

Here he would wait-just out of his enemy's sight. He would watch all that occurred and,at the proper time and the proper place, he'd strike.

Poor Safar.

Sentence had already been passed and he didn't know it.